


Perception

by aosenpai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (?), 3AM, Angel Cas, Confusing, Destiel - Freeform, Hunter Dean, M/M, Please ask if, Prayer, Questioning, Short Story, cas doesnt have a sexuality, cas is the book, confused, dean is the quill man, last exit to brooklyn, sorry - Freeform, wrote this at like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aosenpai/pseuds/aosenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wonder... Just what's going on in those angel's minds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Start reading this at 2 minutes 30 seconds into the song Life is a Pigsty by Morrissey. This is my first fic and I always like to just pour words into a story. Sorry if u don't understand  
> :)

The book chants dean - a hum of misfortune. What is a hymn without love? A book without a moral. The man with a quill writes many stories, those that always drives question. The golden path is a difficult one. He is as useful as the pheasants upon the table. Helpless to himself yet able to quench the thirst of others. He will bring all down soon - we will be the knives that cut his flesh, the forks that bring sorrow to our finely chopped teeth. I refuse to be the one who brings himself forgiveness the book hums. He will crumble upon himself; looking into his own eyes without mercy. Hoods of blue look into the merciless eyes attempting to pick at the flesh around them. He we knew know nothing. What is the earth who is this man that stands before me? Hunched and mind withered? I wish to be before him wing clad holding with light. Blue light he see's. Blue light he does not understand. He wants to touch it, but he is restricted from my touch by my touch. This being. This mortal never ending being. He never wished to look at them. He never wished to be like them. Become like them. He will never be them, no matter what he becomes. Life is a pigsty, I quickly learnt. What we want is only a chance and you must bring pain to yourself and others. When did the universe begin? When did it end? He who knows mouth is tied shut, never to speak move talk travel kiss whisper cry beat feel emotions. He will never love. Love is love is love is love is love. What is love? Why must we question? Who has the answers to what we must know? I question choices. Irrational. Love is love. Love is an emotion. A thing. We wear love we feel love we gaze upon love. We hold it close. I have seen many a thing, yet I find it impossible to understand love. I look upon the quill handling man and I feel love. Love is love. What I believe love is is what I desire. I want need love. He holds love in his broken heart. None for me or me or me or me. I hold the needle, yet he does not hand me the string. He holds it close in his dirty palms. I stare. I stare at him and i stare and wish for that string to burn. Burn and burn everything with it. Me and him engulfed in the burning and dancing. Dancing because it is the end! Dance dance dance! Dance, ballerina, dance! I wish to look upon his burnt out mind, as it is beautiful. I have never seen such a beautiful thing. It makes me tremble and cry cry cry cry all my emotions feeling BARRIERS away. I only wish to understand. I need to understand, yet all of this makes my heart ache. I cry at what I see before me. My situation is the most pathetic and needy. I grasp for things out of my reach. My grasp blood muscle bone. What brings everything together? God bring me answers. You understand what I cannot even begin to morph into an idea. I pray... I PRAY to you for answers, yet I still look upon my damaged hands and begin to question. Everything is a question... And I question my belief and what I am. How can I not believe if what I am is a believer? Love is love. See? I didn't turn that into a question. Love is not a question. What I feel is true. The book questions and the book mumbles. It is unheard. What could be blocking these questions. Does what I ask require too much thought and stress? I wish for HAPPINESS. I have mentioned a feeling that makes my soul tremble. Happiness makes me cry. I am happy when I see the man with a quill in his hand, beckoning me. For now I may question - the book questions - but I feel pleasant. We look upon what we have and what is here and we feel emotions. Emotions I cannot put into formal text. So I wish to stay with my emotions. My love is here so so am I. Love is love is love. I do question love anymore. Love is love.


End file.
